Chapter 9 - The Price of Ambition
Two days later, the storm had finally cleared, leaving behind a stark, quiet autumn chill.
The press had cannibalized the story with insatiable hunger. *The New York Times*, *The Wall Street Journal*, and national television networks ran non-stop coverage of the "Scott Global Dynasty Murders."
Victoria Reed was being held without bail at the Metropolitan Correctional Center, facing first-degree murder charges and federal racketeering indictments.
Emily Reed had been released on electronic monitoring, completely disgraced, her name stripped from every corporate board and social registry. Stripped of her trust-fund allowance and facing accessory charges, she had retreated to a tiny, rented studio in New Jersey, hiding from the swarms of paparazzi camped outside her door.
And Richard.
I stood outside the secure interrogation room at the federal courthouse in Lower Manhattan. Daniel stood beside me, holding a manila folder containing the finalized divorce decree and the surrender of all claims to the Scott estate.
"He signed everything," Daniel said quietly. "He didn't even read it. His court-appointed public defender advised him to take the plea deal on federal fraud charges to avoid being charged as an accessory to your father's murder."
"Does he want to see me?" I asked.
Daniel nodded. "He begged for five minutes. You don't have to do this, Clara."
"I do," I said. "I need to see the ghost before I bury it."
I pushed the heavy steel door open.
Richard sat at a metal table, dressed in a coarse orange jumpsuit. His face was a patchwork of yellowing bruises and stitches from the car crash at Willow Creek. His right arm was in a sling. The polished, charismatic executive who had stood at the gala just forty-eight hours ago was gone, replaced by a broken, hollow shell.
When he saw me, a pathetic, desperate spark flickered in his eyes.
"Clara..." he rasped, his voice raw. He tried to stand, but the chain linking his waist to the floor bolted him down. "Thank you for coming. Please... you have to tell the prosecutors I didn't help her kill Robert. I swear on my life, Clara, I didn't know until it was too late!"
I took a seat on the opposite side of the steel table, keeping my hands folded calmly on the surface.
"I know you didn't kill him, Richard," I said softly.
He let out a ragged breath of relief. "Then tell them! Tell them to drop the conspiracy charges! We were married, Clara. Five years! You loved me!"
"You didn't kill him," I continued, my voice steady and cold. "You just watched him die. You watched the poison take him, day by day, and you said nothing. You watched me cry at his funeral, and you held me while planning how to spend his fortune with my stepsister."
Richard’s face crumpled. "Clara, please... I made a mistake. I was terrified of Victoria! She was a monster!"
"No, Richard," I said, leaning forward. "Victoria was a monster. You were just a coward. And in the end, cowardice is far more pathetic."
I stood up, adjusting the lapels of my black coat.
"The divorce is finalized. The judge signed the emergency decree this morning. Your name has been legally removed from every asset, every patent, and every family record. When you finish your ten-year sentence in federal prison, you will walk out onto the street with exactly what you brought into my life: nothing."
May you like
"Clara! Don't leave me like this!" he pleaded, rattling the heavy chains against the floor as the guards stepped into the room. "Clara! I'm sorry! Clara!"
I turned my back and walked out of the room, letting the heavy steel door slam shut behind me, sealing his cries forever in the dark.
